There was a day, long ago, when Becky and I were suddenly prompted by certain personal events — the nature of which you can very likely figure out for yourself — to discuss our preferences of names for a hypothetical baby. It was something we hadn’t discussed before in five or six years of cohabitation. This was a luxury possible for most heterosexual couples younger than 40 only since the latter half of the Twentieth Century, and don’t think we didn’t appreciate that fact. We still do.
I told Becky that I liked the idea of having male triplets, and naming them Jeffrey, Douglas, and Joshua, middle names Pine, Fir, and Tree respectively. This earned me a Look.
Once I had assured her that I was only joking, lying through my teeth in the process, Becky did allow as how she thought a botanical name would be a nice choice for a girl. I heartily concurred, and took my copy of Hortus Third
It was Bulbinella. Becky and I looked at each other for a long moment.
Two days later, baby names were no longer an issue. We breathed a sigh of relief which we occasionally re-enact to this day.
For a while afterward I’d imagine a blastocyst listening in on our conversation, recoiling in horror at the notion of going through life with that name, swimming up to the big “Eject” button next to the left fallopian tube, and kicking it hard.
We didn’t have a name for my first son until he was four days old. I was still in the hospital because I had had a section. Sometime during Day Two, we were talking names while my husband was videotaping me holding little No Name. My husband suggested “Felix” and the baby started to cry as if he understood. It’s one of my favorite home movie memories.
I wonder what he would have done with Bulbinella.
I’m guessing Moon Unit just didn’t kick hard enough, poor soul.
Why, Bulbinella would’ve been a perfect playmate for our Aubergine, her brother Vector, and little Vinda Lou.
I can’t resist commenting on a post about names.
There are benefits to having a unique name—especially one that was formerly a mere common noun. You always know when you’re being spoken to. Your name can be said in any language. You learn to believe in your uniqueness and individuality at a young age. People tend to remember it.
There are drawbacks too. You always know when you’re being spoken to. You can never buy cheap crap with your name printed it—so instead you get excited when blog posts have your name in the title. Everyone asks you what you’ll name YOUR kids. People always think they’ve come up with the most brilliant joke about your name two seconds after meeting you—I started offering a prize to the first person who came up with a pun on my name that I hadn’t heard before when I was 14. No one has claimed it yet.
I really like the tree boy names because they bridge the gap: your theoretical triplets could pretend they had perfectly normal names (avoiding much playground taunting) while secretly knowing their names mean so much more…The best of both worlds!
Fabulous story! I’ll warn my gestating friends not to peer too hard at the baby book yet. I also want a commendation for not ejecting, even when hearing the hideous boy name I was about to be saddled with. Perhaps that’s how I got the girl parts.
It was just such a hypothetical event that prompted my recent vasectomy. Of course, we already have two kids and don’t want any more, so the procedure definitely isn’t for everyone.
It’s a shame that Becky didn’t like your names. Personally, I loved them. Are you sure her look wasn’t more in horror at the idea of having triplets? I know that would certainly earn me the Look…
so the procedure definitely isn’t for everyone.
But it oughtta be!
Five years ago here in Japan there was a national uproar when one family considered naming their child “Akuma”, which, though the Chinese characters mean something completely diffrent, usually translates to “Satan”. The Japanese government, after a huge court case, forbid the parents from using the name.
But just imagine! Arriving at school with the bullies picking their noses at the back of the class, and the teacher gently pushing you forward and announcing, “Good morning, class. I’d like you to meet your new classmate, Akuma Sakashita (Satan Underhill). He’s from Jigokudani (“Valley of Hell”, a famous hot spring resort area).” I think even the most flaccid-minded troll would perk up at that.
You do remember, no? that the late David Gaines named his kids Sage and Vireo, presumably with the collusion (and who knows, maybe the original idea) of his wife, whose name I’ve forgotten.
FWIW, she’s in good company. Just ask Wotsisname. Which would be a good name to name someone of you wanted him to be named often.
Sally Gaines.
I picked out my baby names years ago: Nebechudnezzar for a boy, and Buttercup for a girl. Haven’t ever gotten the chance to use them.
I’ve never forgiven my parents for not naming me Wachendorfia. And I’ve never forgiven myself for not naming at least one of my boys Hortus III.